Stranger than Fiction

Every now and again I find myself drawn to certain pieces of visual entertainment that tend to strike a deeper chord than I think may have been intended from the beginning. When I first watched Stranger than Fiction I recall it being promoted as a comedy, probably because "comedic actor" Will Ferrell is the central figure of the story. While not a comedy in my eyes, it has certain comedic elements that lend itself to that style. It's a heart wrenching, inspiring piece of decent people in a strange situation. It's got great actors filling out small roles of average people with everyday quirks, foibles and idiosyncrasies. It makes you feel for just about every character, getting into the mindset of them and making them as real as possible, for a movie viewing audience. It's a film with such a strong story and well defined characters that it makes me scream whenever I see the incessant drek continually being released on the big and small screen. The strength of story strikes me to do better in my own writing and I always think of what has become the funniest and most memorable scene in the movie to me, when Harold Crick says to Ana Pascal after eating some of her freshly baked cookies, "Thank you for forcing me to eat them."

Thank you, Stranger than Fiction, for forcing me to be a better writer.

Inspirations

    While it wasn't a total surprise to find a large, bearded man sleeping on my living room floor at 4 AM, it set me aback slightly. I didn't know him. His mode of dress was, simply put, archaic. I couldn't help but think that there was a Viking Age reinactment somewhere nearby, though something nagged at the back of my brain that defied that thought. It wasn't the just that the clothes looked as if they were hand woven, stiched and dyed (and in places, repaired). It wasn't the odd shape of the pants -- no, they were breeches, definitely. It wasn't the trim around the sleeves and edges of the voluminous, green shirt he wore, nor the craftsmanship of the torc around his neck. That sort of thing I'd seen before. I'd even seen an axe like his, long handled and with a small, curved head. No, it was none of that, nor the fact they were all together on this quite impressively stealthy man, considering I didn't even hear how he entered the house. My cat, my incredibly unruly and disruptive cat, who likes few and attacks most on the slightest whim, was curled up next to him as he snoozed away. That small fact stirred my curiosity more than his clothes, weaponry, beard or even his shoes, which showed signs of heavy use but looked as comfortable as a pair of old socks.
    I gripped my juice glass tightly and stirred my throat, hoping to wake him without too much of a shock. He opened his eyes and lifted his head slowly from his outstretched arm he was using as support. My cat, my lovely chaotic beast, stood and streched her back and sauntered away as if there was nothing wrong. What a little bitch. The bearded man sat up, resting one arm on a bent knee while the other hand scratched at his beard. His eyes, a bright and oddly almost luminescent blue, regarded me with a stare I've never felt in my life.
    He began to speak to me in some form of Scandanavian. I understood exactly what he said even though I only know a few words of Swedish and those would barely cover a snippet of what he was saying to me.
    "Odin bless you this morning," he said to me first. I could barely figure out how to respond, so I just nodded. "You have lost your Self."
    I stared at this man, again not knowing how to respond. I knew immediately that when he said 'Self' he meant it as a capitalized, more important meaning of the word. My inside voice rationalized that somehow you know these things when visited by strange men bearing axes in the wee hours of the morning.
    He nodded brusquely at me and rose to his feet in one powerful movement. It was not graceful in any way, but it did inspire thought as to the immensity of the man's physical command. I stand 6'2", he stood slightly shorter than me. He was broad in chest that made me feel like a skinny teenager and it took some exertion on my part not to step back from him. He nodded, somewhat respectfully.
    "You know of what I speak," he continued. "You have lost your lust. You have lost your governing spirit. You have endangered your future. I will explain, then show you path proper."
    He stared at me for a moment, those bright blue eyes giving me much pause as to a response. Who the hell was this guy, anyway? Breaking into my house, my castle, however small and dim. Telling me things about me that, well frankly, cut to the bone. Why was that? Why was it that what he said struck me harder than anything anyone else ever said to me? I'm more than well aware of how I perceive myself and how others look upon me. I care little of others belief and thought though I do care for family and friends deeply. What was this guy getting at?
    He cocked his head slightly and smirked at me. It was then I noticed he had small braids woven into his beard, each with a tiny knot at the end. "You get angry, this is good. You must get angry, you must feel the fire of life in you to do what you need to do to make things right for you and yours. Then you must grab what is rightly yours and never let it go again. Keep what is yours, share it with those in your life, be larger than you have ever been before."
    My mouth hung open for a moment, then I found my voice. "What the hell are you, who... what the -- " He stopped me before I could stammer out more.
    "You stay quiet. Listen. Learn. Talk after. Sit, we will confer." He sat down on my living room floor, making himself as comfortable as possible on the hard wood. I sat across from him, also trying to make myself comfortable.
    "The Blood of your ancestors runs deep within you, Son," he said to me. "Yours runs deeper than others, you feel it, you hear the call of the ancients, the Aesir."
    The bearded man leaned forward quickly and practically shouted the skeptical look off my face. "Do not deny your heritage! Do not deny what was, what is, what will be! Your beliefs now may be different than then though they still exist! Denial is forgetting your forefathers! Remember them -- revere them -- they revere you, their spawn, their blood, their gift to the world!"
    I was awed by his quick, anger filled reproach. I wasn't even sure what to make of it, how to respond to it. I kept quiet. I did wipe the spittle from him off my face, though.
    He calmed rather abruptly. I didn't expect that, considering. I also didn't expect how easily I was accepting this, what would seemingly be a Viking warrior speaking to me in something akin to a Scandanavian language that I somehow understood. Strange things have happened to me before, though this one was probably going to be the topper for a while. My cat returned to us men, winding between the two of us and settling at the bearded man's waist, where he absently started to scratch her ears. She purred.
    "You do me no insult, Son. You can not. You only injure you by denying what is. When you can acknowledge what you are, who you are, you will rectify your Self. Know that the strong drink we understand. Celebrations are also understood, they are needed. Remember who and why you are celebrating and conquer the desire for revelry with living for the next day. Teach those around you that zest for life, lust for life is not just in revelry, it is in cooperating, creating, learning for tomorrow and those that come after you. Yes, you will sometimes need to crush some that defy you or stand in your way, do so without remorse or compassion. You can not continue to thrive while being stifled by small minded men." He sat forward a bit, pushing my cat away from him, She sauntered away, obviously pleased with the ear scratching.
    "You can not continue this way. You unman yourself. You strangle your Self! You must reunite with what you feel you lost. You know what that is."
    I put my juice glass on the floor, it had been untouched since I walked into the room and was slowly growing warm, I was sure. My mind was spinning. Everything this crazy cosplayer was saying was true, I could feel it to my bones. I knew exactly what he was talking about. I could feel my blood sing as he spoke, my heart racing as he mentioned ancestors and forefathers and reverence. I know what I had lost and it was bringing tears to my eyes. It was as if there were battling waves crashing inside me, that of my lack of focus and that of my wants, my desires, my absolutions.
    "Weep not, Son. We weep for you so you need not. Find your strength. Find your Self. Seek out your son and teach him, He will help you. All will fall into place after and you will fail naught." He stopped talking and looked to the floor. "My time here is near done. Stand and face me."
    We both stood up, I could find nothing more to say or even think. I stood and faced this man and looked at him eye to eye.
    "You will do well. You only stepped away from the path proper for a small time, but you must not delay in fixing what has been damaged. It will not be easy. Nothing ever is. Hardships come and you better yourself by defeating them. The old ways are not for now but you must learn from them and make them work in your time. We -- I believe in you, my descendant. Our blood is one, yours is strong and will grow stronger as you pass it on to your own."
    The man who called himself my blood stepped back, away from me. A shimmering arm appeared out of the air behind him, reaching for his shoulder. "We are watching you and know we are still proud. You will honor us, we know this. Keep the axe to remind you in the days to come that you are who you think you are. And remember, your father still smiles when telling tales of you, Rikard's Son."
    He stepped into the clasping embrace of the arm and I caught a glimpse of a beautiful blonde woman in armor, smiling at him as if he were someone she knew well. Then they both vanished in the blink of an eye.
    I stood there, staring at the space where this man was, barely noticing the tears on my face. Everything that was said to me meant something, more than I could even fathom at that moment. I knew though, that the future was indeed bright as my tears fell onto the axe left behind.

15 Life Experiences Better Than the 121 Minutes of Speed 2

SPEED 2 Month continues! This is an edited version of an earlier weblog I wrote on November 13th, 2008. Enjoy the deepening feeling you get likened to the one felt near the end of SPEED 2.

1.  Carny Fist vs. Axe vs. Lawn rake Fight
Until you see this for your own eyes, you'll know that only Speed 2 can beat this experience.  That or watching your cat dig in the litter box.  Yes, you must live next to or near Carny folk to see it... my place, the affectionately titled Hovelhouse is available for sublet.
2.  Hawk vs. Opossum
I witnessed some kind of hawk pick an opossum off the road one early morning while working for a newspaper some time ago.  This stuck with me as only an event like it could.  Speed 2 reminds me of the possible 120 other things I could have seen during them like this hawk and this opossum.
3.  Beer-drinking Ho-bags

Go back, read the post titled the above, then come back here.  Beer-drinking ho-bags are worth more of my time than the wasted 121 minutes Jan de Bont (the director, remember that name) subjected me to. (Feel free to request the weblog mentioned here. I'll even update it.)

4.  Rubbing Alcohol vs. Grease
I spent the better part of a morning last week cleaning grease off a concrete floor with rubbing alcohol.  It was better time spent than the 30 seconds of comedy I graciously give Speed 2.
5.  Saab Dying on the Highway
On a wintery Saint Patrick's Day, my beloved Saab decided to blow a transmission on my way to Hartford.  I missed most of the Fighting Gollarny Brothers, most of the $1.06 breakfast and had to have my car towed away.  Still, I met a hot female trooper that would have made Jason Patric think twice about doing Speed 2.  Oops... guess he never met her.
6.  Late Nights at the Mohegan Sun Casino
Full of the worst of the worst boozers, hounds and characteristically indecent folk, the casinos of Connecticut tend to drop in quality of personality after 11 PM.  Watch the newly 21 year old college kids chase the underage girls!  Watch the gambling addicts rub their chips together and chase the underage girls!  Watch the underage girls shirk their parents and try to gamble!  I could go on and on, kind of like Speed 2 does when the ship hits, oh, what was it, 6 knots?
7.  Ricky Martin's Bon Bons

Uh... even the Spanish women I worked with thought he was gay.  Supposedly he isn't, but I think I saw a picture of Jason Patric's pouty lips in his dressing area. (Update: He is and they were right.)

8.  President George W. Bush
In retrospect, he wasn't that bad.  Seriously, compare him to Speed 2 and you'll see what I mean.
9.  Players, Player Haters and Pimps Party
AKA the Triple P Party or PPP Party, it was notorious as being the one to almost kill my Memorial Day bashes.  While it was disaterous in almost all possible ways, it doesn't come close to the disaster Speed 2 was to most involved.  Pirate Party followed up the PPP Party and killed any thought of eliminating the bashes.  Where is Speed 3?
10.  Girl Drama
I'd rather sit through days and weeks and months of girl drama than watch the endless scene of the boat hitting the dockside in Speed 2 again.  Then again, I have.  You girls can substitute this for Guy Drama, if you wish.
11.  Moosehead Beer

To date, the worst "beer" I've ever had.  I'll drink a six pack the next time I'm swayed to MST3K Speed 2.  It may even add to the experience... for all. (ohhh... I forgot about this. I wonder if I still can get Moosehead for the big review coming?)

12.  Dan Didio at DC Comics

For those that don't read comics, Dan Didio, the Didiot, is single-handedly slaughtering the DC Comics characters such as Superman, Wonder Woman and Batman.  His inane ideas and "editing policies" have made the majority of the titles published there unreadable and unrecognizeable.  In short, they are marginally better than the filmed script of Speed 2.  Trust me when I say that ain't much. (Coming soon: Sir Jon vs. DCNu!)

13.  New Coke

Truly, this shortsighted, bone-headed move is an irrevocable case of misunderstanding your market.  It tasted like sweetened Pepsi and was not all it was meant to be.  Speed 2, well you get the analogy.  New Coke is a much more positive experience as it solidified the now-titled Coke Classic as a force of consumer power.  Speed 2, not so much.
14.  C-Span 2

A sequel of one of the most boring cable networks on the air beats out a big-budget movie sequel?  Hell yes, it does!  C-Span 2 dares to do what few cable networks would, show the absolute drudgery of American, British, Canadian and statewide politics, author panels and discussions and bad morning radio (on cable!).  Speed 2 dared to make you pay for it.  Which do you think is better?

15.  Scrubbing Mold From the Shower
I hate it, but it gives a small sense of satisfaction that only breaking a copy of Speed 2 could beat.  Now, there's a thought!

Hidden History

    There is a vocal minority of researchers, armchair and otherwise, that believe we, as a learned people, have been led to believe nothing less than an outright lie when it comes to human history. Whether or not that may include the actual existence of an Atlantis-like civilization that populated the Earth or that aliens seeded the planet as an experiment, that's where the breadth of the discussion... dissention, even... lays.
    Some of the topics that come up when investigating the possibility that there is a "secret history of mankind" can make the intelligent person wonder if they might be reading fantasy, science fiction or at worst, viewing an episode of Mr. Peabody's Wayback Machine. With bestselling authors of fiction (keep that in mind) such as Dan Brown giving the general public some semblance of knowledge into things historically mysterious, more and more people have been inspired to question what we know or have been taught to believe. Now, not attacking Mr. Brown regarding his knowledge of the subject his fiction (again, keep that in mind!) or whether his books are, well, good, I have to give him a little credit in spurring some free thinking amongst the masses, even if it isn't all that well thought out. Is it possible that the Knights Templar were protecting a treasure far beyond that of gold and silver? Sure, why not. Is it possible that the Freemasons were organized to rule countries and governments from behind the curtain? There is some interesting evidence to suggest they might have had a hand or two in some sort of business like that. Does the Vatican have a vast treasure trove of heretical tomes and scrolls that could rival the famed Library at Alexandria? Let's just say Vatican researchers aren't even aware of what they have in their midst. So, Dan Brown, good job opening the doors to let the hounds of media frenzy open. If only those that read your books understood they're fiction!
   
    It's no secret I love history. What I've discovered as I read and research and especially as more and more artifacts are unearthed, is that we might have misrepresented certain parts of our own history. It's no secret that some well read, published and known researchers out there have delved into the mysteries of the past, from the Great Sphinx at Giza, to the Great Pyramids of the same plateau, to the disappearance of the Maya to the purpose of the monoliths that cover the British Isles and Eastern Europe. While reading about all of the above, I've come to believe that what we know, or at least what we think we know, doesn't even scratch the proverbial surface strata.
   We know that Leif Eriksson landed in North America long before Columbus stumbled into the Caribbean. We don't know if the Vikings went very deep into the continent or if they went much further south than Nova Scotia. There is evidence they may have. That's enough to question the historians... what took so long for you to officially recognize it? What is there to hide, just in that one little bit of knowledge, that could ruin history as we know it?
    Some people are unaware that the natives of North America, the "Indians" to the European settlers, may not have been the first peoples in North America. Known as "Mound People" to researchers, builders of large, earthen structures that dwarf their surroundings in some places, they are mysteries to everyone. Early explorers found the natives living amongst the mounds and they themselves informed the explorers that the mounds predated them. If this might be true, who were these people and why don't we know more about them? Historians wrote them out of the books. I've found more questions than answers about the mounds, their purpose and where they are, or were, in most cases. Many were destroyed for farmland, the objects inside either plowed under or obliterated or maybe taken somewhere. I have a name, a member of our own government, who instructed the mounds to be destroyed, lest the people coming to America believe the land impure! Impure because someone else once lived there!
    Learn more about this deranged individual soon. Until then, watch this rather... interesting character.

http://wn.com/Mound_builder_(people)

Chaos in the Making

You know the days where you think you've got it all planned out and then... SMACK. Your first few hours end up like a fly against a windshield. That's been the past few days for me, as is typical in the life of the Chaos Maker. While I'm used to things usually going all tits up, particularly at work, it's getting a bit repetitious for this one. How long before the breaking point is reached? What is the breaking point? What would make me break? I've never thought of myself as broken, really. Well, except in the areas of women... but that's nothing new. I've been told I'm too Piscean for my own good. Maybe that's the truth. Maybe. Still, is a paycheck, no matter how high or low it is, worth being called a failure? Belittled constantly? Or, more accurately, belittled on a regular, irregular basis. I've learned that some of the coworkers are truly worth leaning on while others are best left in the oubliette. Erg... turning to the occasional beer or fine bottled beverage isn't always the answer, although it's a lovely thought. Those that tell you that "someday's you're the road, other days you're the car" just need to be drawn and quartered when you're in no mood to hear it, dealing with the garbage you might be. As such, the history commentary will return in a day or two. Oh, and one more thing: You can go fuck yourself. You know who you are. Fucker.

You Think History is Boring

I have a fascination with ancient history. How and where it started mystifies me but it's a fairly strong fascination. I do know my father entertained some interest in all things historical and may have passed it onto me, though it's doubtful he envisioned exactly where I'd be ending up in some of my reading, internet and print.

Over the past 10 years or so, there have been majestic discoveries of the archaeological kind, everywhere from undersea locales to mountainous regions to right in someone's back 40. Many of these sites have been known to scientists and archaeologists for some time, though they've never been given proper time or focus to relinquish their secrets or theories as to their use or reason for being. Some theories fall into the extreme, such as the well-documented thought by a few "outsiders" to archaeology that the Sphinx at the Giza Plateau in Egypt is much, much older than the Egyptologists have led people to believe for so many years. Taught in schools that it was built by the Pharoah Khafra, there have been dissenting theories throughout, causing strife amongs the very unbending minds of Egyptology, much less those of archaeology and history as a whole. This sort of "maverick" thinking, those that fly in the face of establishment, is quite appealing to me, moreso in that those that refute any new or "outsider" theories scream and cry out all the louder for the attention the new ideas get! Regardless of whether or not the Sphinx at Giza was built by Khafra (it probably wasn't) or whether it's 10,000 years old (also unlikely) it is something that causes one to think that maybe, just maybe we weren't taught all that well to begin with.

When I was in grade school, we were taught, like everyone else, that Christopher Columbus discovered America by literally sailing into the Caribbean. It had been known for many years prior that Leif Eriksson and the Vikings had invariably been to the northern portion of the continent long before Columbus ever even thought to hornswaggle Spanish monarchs out of three ships for his travels. While I was taught about Leif as well, at least at some later point, it was almost always as nothing more than a footnote, pushing the established view of Columbus as "discoverer of America". Of course, once learning a Viking was on this side of the world long before that crazy Italian, it only spurred my interest in the fact that others might have even been here prior to Leif and his berserkers. Fine, fine, let's not forget the so-called indigenous folk that were here when all these supposed explorers came a-traveling. When did they get here? How long were they here? Is it possible they've always been here? O, the questions that abound... not to mention the fact that there's another coastline of the Americas...

You see the fascination, don't you? I've already gone past ancient history and moved into more modern, recorded history. Okay, Norse Edda is difficult to understand, I'll admit. So is cuneiform. Egyptian cartouches are still being deciphered to get proper translations. Someday we'll probably learn that the Rosetta Stone was nothing more than one vast joke from one insanely intelligent and sadistic mind. That would turn the historians on their ear. Imagine all the ret-con talk they'd have to work on, history books that would have to be reworked... it's mindboggling. There's more of that fascination, right there.

Leaving out the conspiratorial thoughts, the outright unproven theories and the fantastic for this note, at least for the moment, I can say I've found plenty of interesting articles of late that have gone on to reveal things not known before. The recent digs at Stonehenge uncovered more information about the site than has been previously known. Theorized, possibly. The underwater excavations going on in northern Egypt have given us a better picture of the ancient city site of Alexandria. Who knows, maybe we'll learn whatever did become of the legendary library that was present there. A very recent find in South America of an unknown Mayan tomb may give up some information as to what, where and why of the Mayan peoples. Incredible stuff, weekly with more being revealed even more frequently. I can't get enough. If you're interested, here's a great site to hit for daily articles from around the world:

http://www.archaeologica.org/NewsPage.htm

Tomorrow, the crazy, the bizarre, the "Forgotten" History of the world.

15 Short Film Reviews or Why Speed 2 Sucks Like a Dyson Vacuum

Please note: This particular writ was originally pieced together in the wee hours of the morning, October 23rd, 2008. I thought it had merit then and still do now. It also fits within the SPEED 2 Month of July De-celebration. Enjoy.

Film 1:  Fiend Without a Face
Starring Canada's greatest actor, Marshall Thompson, this phenomenal black and white horror/sci-fi stunner has some of the most disgusting and grotesque sound effects from any movie.  That says much, considering the budget.  Speed 2 had a budget that dwarfed FWaF as the sun dwarfs the Earth, so that alone says we have a better film here.
Film 2:  Silent Running
A seventies orphan, this overly hippie-like science fiction stars Bruce Dern in almost a solo role.  As he is an actor of repute (The 'Burbs notwithstanding), that alone would make it a worthy opponent of Speed 2.  Fortunately, the story is well thought out and makes you care for robots that don't speak or make much sound.  Eat your heart out, Star Wars nerds.
Film 3:  The Gamers
A newer indie movie, this one slays the role playing game nerd, his views and living at home with mama.  Not a great movie at all, but still has humorous moments and some real actors interspersed through the rookies.  It also moves at a faster pace than the entirety of Speed 2, making it a fairly superior movie just for that.
Film 4:  Heavy Metal
Ah, Heavy Metal.  The first time I ever saw animated boobs.  Kudos to that, you get high marks and a rating that puts Speed 2 and its poor domestic take to greater shame.
Film 5:  Flying Guillotine
This Chinese masterpiece probably has thirteen other titles, but this is how I saw it for the first time.  I'm no cinemaphile to the degree I know everything that the Hong Kong movie studios ever did, but wow... a headless corpse can do better at acting than Jason Patric in Speed 2.  Watch both, you'll agree.
Film 6:  Jabberwocky
One of the many films done by members of the Monty Python crew that technically isn't Monty Python.  It is also not a great movie.  It is, however, better than Speed 2 just in the idiocy of Michael Palin's lead character, rather than the idiocy of a poor script, poor planning, poor acting, poor science...
Film 7:  Death Race 2000
Probably the first real "cult hit" movie on the list, as well as a Roger Corman classic.  Corman doesn't always hit it well, but when he does, he hits like a cruise ship into a dockside of people, buildings and businesses.  Just a lot faster and more destructive than the one in Speed 2.
Film 8:  The Phantom
By this one I do mean the Billy Zane film adapting the comic strip character.  There have been other interpretations of the Phantom but this one, while not remarkable in a host of ways, is the best.  Not only that, but when Treat Williams is better in a movie than Willem Dafoe, that should ring alarms.  Hm.  Maybe Speed 2 needed Billy Zane?
Film 9:  UHF
Weird Al Yankovic trumps even the first Speed movie.  Unless of course, they make a Speed 3.
Film 10:  Eraserhead
Oh, come on.  It's David Lynch!
Film 11:  Night of the Lepus
"Giant" bunnies attacking a town and kicking aside the (toy) railroad tracks make for better movies than Sandra Bullock trying to stop a cruise ship from... what was she doing in Speed 2?  Anyone?
Film 12:  Red Sun
I absolutely love this movie, which alone would make it on a different list from this one, but it's not on DVD and Speed 2 is, so there's your trump.  Red Sun, a weird western tale with Toshiro Mifune and Chuck Bronson that's NOT ON DVD is better than Speed 2. (Update: Red Sun was available on DVD, briefly, at about the time this was written. I still have yet to locate a copy. Even so, I'll keep it on the list just to add insult to injury.)
Film 13:  Burnt Offerings
Honestly, I don't remember much about this one except as a kid, I was too scared not to watch.  Certain scenes stick with me, as they scared me and a best friend at the time to the point of giggles.  I think the only thing in Speed 2 that made me giggle is when I turned the volume on and listened to the dialogue.
Film 14:  Godzilla versus Mothra
Godzilla is better than Jason Patric's pout, hence this entry on the list.  Godzilla made more money, too.
Film 15:  The Corsican Brothers
Cheech and Chong at their absolute worst!  An unfunny, unrelenting bore of a movie with bad, bad, BAD jokes.  And yet, it laughs at Speed 2 because it's a better film.  The costume designer alone would beat Speed 2 and the speedos seen in it.  Ugh!
And there you have it, fifteen movies better than Speed 2.  I highly recommend all of the above as good popcorn digesters, rather than wasting time and money on the viciously awful on the eyes and ears Speed 2.  Didn't think I could do it?  I may do it again with another 15.  Hope you liked it... I know a guy named John that did.

Cartoon History

I had a recent conversation with someone that sparked some thoughts on one of my favorite pastimes, watching good animated programs. One of the best, in my learned opinion, was that of the original Jonny Quest series from the sixties. Now, I admit that there have been many shows with superior animation, as technology has changed considerably since the airing of this aged series. Still, very, very few have come close to the style, storytelling or sheer voice talent lent to the characters. Why is it, that after all these years, the show continues to air in repeats, continues to spawn updated (and far inferior) versions, continues to resonate in ways unlike other cartoons of that or any era? Essentially, everyone that watches it, especially boys and the men they become, are captivated right from the first beatings of the kettle drum intro. The theme of Jonny Quest will always be one of the best themes in television history, mainly because it's an original score, whereas many shows of today are hoisted from existing tracks of music or even just licensed outright. The bizarre sci-fi meets espionage leanings add to the interest, the manly Race Bannon being our All-American, James Bond mockup, the brainy scientist Benton Quest making no bones about creating projects for the government, all the while shooting a few baddies to help out Race just icing on the cake.

Maybe not every kid watching wanted to be Jonny exactly, his extreme blond hair a bit much for some, I'm sure. I have no doubt many had no problems wanting to be in Jonny's shoes, though. Having a kooky Indian buddy that not only could laugh in the face of danger, he had tricks no one else could do -- that helped a lot. The dog? Maybe annoying, but not everyone could have a dog, so what's not to like about that? Dad took you and your plucky friend all over the bloody world, for crying out loud! Sure, what young boy wouldn't want to be Jonny, even for just one day?

The show had some failings, though they are quaint, in their way. The hokey ways the two intrepid boys got involved in their capers was sometimes a bit... taxing. The animation could be a little stiff in places and sometimes slightly off in others, but damn, did it look good being slightly off! The skewed moral code of some of the characters is certainly amusing (I didn't build the Parapower Ray as a weapon, but I'll use it as one with no issues or repercussions, thank you) and the lack of a completed feel to the show is sad but doesn't detract in any serious fashion.

I wish I could attach a file with the theme song but it seems most have been pulled from the net. You can pay for it, of course... but I'm a cheap bastard. So go watch on YouTube... or watch your neighbor's cable.

Music

I've had a few days to consider certain aspects of what makes the days pass for me (the revelation of the fact SPEED 2 is a crappy movie notwithstanding) and as I sit here punching in YouTube searches and listening to obscurities in my CD (yes, no Ipod here) collection, I realize that music makes the days just that much more sweet. Or, as the case has been for me of late, just that much less of a train wreck.

Listening to music that you find entertaining or enjoyable or even just passable as listenable can make even the most dark day somewhat lighter. Hell, even poking sly fun at another's musical tastes can be fun, mostly because we all know we have that one band or musician that we enjoy that is probably on someone else's list of artists to be mocked.

I've been bouncing around the spectrum tonight alone, though I have a few particular speaker killing bands I like to play to lift my spirits, blow off some steam or even just plain scream at the sky... although I don't think either Van Morrison or Robert Mitchum's Calypso songs are of that ilk.

In my rather unfocused searches, I've logged in to watch and listen to everything from good old Bon Scott AC/DC, Uriah Heep, The Beach Boys, The Sweet, Budgie, Wishbone Ash, Dr. Teeth and the Electric Mayhem and some band called Flogging Molly that seems to speak to me like no other. Watching some of the old, scratchy and definitely bootlegged vids of some of these bands amuses me to no end, considering a good measure of some of these guys are dead or retired. Some of the sounds these guys came up with are so awesome and ear shattering it gets your blood boiling, wanting to see more, hear more. A live band can bring so much energy and dare I say happiness to those giving their attention that it in itself can be something special to behold. Just give a listen to some Humble Pie and discover the mastery of Steve Marriott. Check out the dual lead guitars of Wishbone Ash, a band ahead of their time. See how a skinny, Scots bastard can play bagpipes in a Rock band and slay those around him! It's enough to make you weep with joy, if you're a softie. Now, I can't say the glam look and sound of The Sweet is for everyone, hell, they all look like they're in drag, really. They do have a singular sound, though. So what if Dr. Teeth isn't flesh and blood? Three quarters of the singers on stage now can be considered the same. Well, not Avril. She's got "FUCK" tattooed on her belly.

Still, there is some great stuff to really get you cranking, be it blues, rock, metal, folk, punk or country... or even hip hop, gods of mercy help you...

I suggest digging out some great stuff whenever you feel blue, angry, aggrivated and frustrated. Stuff that gets you motivated. Stuff that makes things moving forward when it all seems dead in the water. I like to blast bagpipes, such as those found in the Red Hot Chilli Pipers (bless you, BagRock!) or grungy blues like the houserocking style of Hound Dog Taylor. Things that make the windows rattle and cry out in pain when I play them repeatedly. I think my last set of speakers gave up when I let loose with a day long play of early ZZ Top. The current pair would never survive what I'd do to them with that Clash collection I have!

So this meandering jumble of nothing needs to end. Anyone have any suggestions to destroy my eardrums with? And please, no Mannheim Steamroller jokes.

Gods of Mercy, NO! Say it isn't so!

This is the first day of the month of July, a month I shall now dub "Speed 2 Month". In this, once a week, I shall post a missive on the variables that make Speed 2 the crappiest film of ALL TIME. I'll save the first in-depth post until after the upcoming holiday, just to save a few brain cells from frying. I will though, roast a few more of my own watching this so-called movie one more time just to refamiliarize myself with its craptastic plot and amazingly inept acting. I may even repost an old writeup on 15 better things to do than watch than Speed 2.

Why do this, you ask? Why spend so much time and bandwidth on a terrible movie? I wish for it NEVER TO HAPPEN AGAIN. Sadly, many of Hollywood films haven't taken the hint yet and come dangerously close to being as bad (Indy 4, anyone?) but that doesn't give us the right to lose vigilance and annoy every person around us in reminding them how bad this movie... these movies... are. I'm also a bit of a bastard and like to piss off a particular friend of mine who once claimed he enjoyed this farce of celluloid magic. Mr. Amenta, you may stand and take a bow.

Okay, I'm more than a bit of a bastard, I'm a right ornery one. All in good fun, though.

To review: July, SPEED 2 month. Reviews, complaints, facts and trivia imminent. Sir Jon: Bit of a bastard. Blogging: Pretty much spewing shite out of the mouth. Enjoy it.

Sir Jon
7*1*2011

P.S. All for you, John.

The Connecticut Beer Trail

Three days in and already two of my topics regard a lovely, bottled craft that folk like me will never stray far from. What can I say, it's "Social Media Day" and I aim to draw a little attention towards a fine organization called the Connecticut Beer Trail.

Let's start simple. Many states, places, areas, counties and probably even municipalities have great focus on another fine beverage: wine. There are wine trails, literally trails of vineyards, wineries, fine wine sellers and makers in many of the aforementioned, most even stamped out on maps for the curiosity seeker or aficionado. A lot of these wine trails are funded by federal grants or state monies to assist in the possible added income from out-of-area vacationers. Basically, your tax bucks at work. Some places have gone a bit further in this idea, in that some people just Don't Like Wine. For these DLW'ers, they've created trails that are more to their liking, such as bourbon trails or candy trails or moonshine trails (well, maybe not moonshine). Then of course, is that elusive Beer Trail. Beer. The "working man's drink." I'm not sure if I subscribe to that particular description, I just know that Beer = Good.

So Connecticut has a wine trail. It shouldn't be a surprise, there are a rising amount of vineyards and wineries all across the U.S. Why then, as there is a great amount of small label beer companies, home brewers and beer lovers of all walks of life, should there not be a beer trail in the Nutmeg State? Bryon Turner thought so, going as far as to create a fantastic website for all of us beer lovers and makers, beer sellers and tappers. Over at the CT Beer Trail (http://ctbeertrail.net/) you can link in to great events, tales of woe, tales of success, brewmaking excellence, pubs with extremely good beers, fun chats and occasionally, notes regarding the State of Connecticut recognizing the CT Beer Trail as a potential draw to the state itself. Oh, revenue and the almight dollar, curse your inevitible focus on good beer! Success is a many armed beast! The beer drinking Connecticut masses will... drink with you and welcome you with open arms!

In all seriousness (with a smirk) the CT Beer Trail is a great organization with many fine points. It is good to know most of the representatives of the state agree and want to make the trail as actualized as the wine trails have become. I can heartily recommend to all fans of good beer to head on over, join up and become a trailblazer of a new type. You'll like it, have fun and probably discover a good new beer or five.

Consider this the first Public Service Message of A Leaf on the Wind. It won't be the last.

Beer

I'm out of beer. In Hovelhouse, that's not something that's usually said. It's not entirely true, either. In the fridge there are a few castoffs from gatherings past, such as that lone Heineken Light that inexplicably showed up here with a few others once. Next to it, resting it's laurels against an old jar of jelly, is a can of Keystone Light that I can attribute to at least one fellow reveler, He Who Drinks the Keystone by the Case. Why it's still in there is beyond me. Just a bottle away is an abandoned Red Stripe that has probably sat in there for the better part of two years. The last of a case, I'd chosen not to drink any more of that brand about half way through. It reminds me why and I hope it never leaves the fridge. Then there's that bizarre Christmas Ale that showed up from some recent dropoff. I recall it being popular 15-odd years ago. I wonder if it's actually that old or not. I don't aim to find out. There is a fine bottle of New Glarus Moon Man, a Wisconsin drink that I'm waiting for a specific time to quaff, as it is my last New Glarus of any type until March of 2012, provided the world doesn't crack in half. New Glarus if a great brewery and should be sampled by all traveling through Cheesehead country. Way back, behind the old ketchup that needs to be tossed is the fine pairing of Seagrams Blue Something-or-other, a girly drink purchased around six (yes, SIX) years ago for, well, the girls. I wonder if it feels just as unwanted as the Smirnoff Raspberry Ice it's been mated to for the better part of four years.

Yes, there is no beer of worth in Hovelhouse at the moment. There is plenty of Woodchuck Cider though, which I have already consumed in twos. I need to, you see. I need to make room for the beer to come. There is, after all, a holiday weekend on the horizon.

Skol!

Watch Me Soar

I caved. I have big plans, most of them not involving a (as I can barely speak the term) BLOG. Still, after much, much, much, MUCH deliberation, I have swallowed the remaining pride of my soul and decided to get my lonely self a BLOG. As was a previous endeavour, I call this "A Leaf on the Wind," in deference to a particular phrase from a particularly favorite film character. Some of you may get it, some of you may have read the posts of that previous endeavour. This may be similar, an experiment of the mind, a soapbox of the minutiae of life, a crass plug for a friend. Whatever it may be at any given point, feel free to speak your piece after each of mine. Expect an argument.

Welcome. Beware. It won't always be a pretty thing. Then again, neither is roadkill.

Jon Johnson (Sir)
10:31 PM EST